


White Knight

by chickfury, thedevilchicken



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Auction, Drugged Sex, Gunplay, M/M, Mutual Pining, Something Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 21:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19411765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickfury/pseuds/chickfury, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Nightwing has been captured and is due to be auctioned to the highest bidder. Batman hasn't got the the time to find an in; Bruce Wayne's rescue method leaves a lot to be desired.





	White Knight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kmfillz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmfillz/gifts).



Bruce presses the gun up underneath Dick's chin, into the soft part past his jawbone and closer to his throat where, if he pushes hard enough, not only will it bruise him but it'll make it hard for him to breathe. He doesn't want to do it, but he knows he's expected to. After all, he's paying for the privilege. 

The auction house is very exclusive, but no doors are closed to men with money and prestige like Bruce Wayne has. When he heard that Nightwing had been caught and put up for sale, he considered mounting a rescue; he looked at it from every angle available to him within the time that he had left, and he realized it just wasn't possible for Batman. He was going to have to try another tack, and so here he is. 

He trails the gun down the center of Dick's chest. It has a silencer screwed tight into the muzzle and he traces the contours of Dick's muscles through the suit that he's still wearing. No one's taken it off him while he's been held captive. No one's removed his mask, because that was all part of the price they hoped to fetch. Bruce has paid to have Nightwing to himself. No one else gets to find out who he is, unless he chooses it.

They handed him the gun as they let him into the room. It's loaded - he can tell by its weight in his hand - but the safety's on. He's meant to use it to defend himself, in case the drugs they've give their captive wear off. He's signed a waiver, just in case his acquisition fights back and kills or maims him,but he can tell that Dick won't fight because Dick is barely here at all. They could have taken his mask ten times over and he wouldn't have stopped them, because he _couldn't_ have. 

He knows how to remove the suit, but he makes a show of cursing as he fumbles at the seams for fastenings to let him in. He's wearing gloves, tight-fitting leather that stretches taut across his knuckles when he makes a fist, and that makes it trickier, but at last he peels the familiar kevlar weave away, piece by piece, till he's left naked. He knows he's being watched via a variety of cameras they've installed around the room, and he knows if they're going to get out of here alive, he has to do this. That doesn't make it easier; it just means he has no choice.

Dick reacts to the chill of the silencer against his bare skin by arching up from the mattress, pressing up against it, and Bruce can understand that - his skin is hot, almost feverish, like the drug in him is some kind of strange pyretic. Bruce trails the gun down, and he knows he could discard it but he's started something now, as he's sitting there at Dick's bare left hip. He knows they're being watched. Part of the deal is that they get to film him doing this, to keep on file for their protection, before he can take his prize away. 

When he moves the gun lower, tracing a large figure eight over Dick's smooth abdomen, Dick shifts again semi-consciously and parts his thighs. Bruce has seen him naked before now; it's a hazard of the job they've shared, and of sharing space the way they used to even though the manor isn't small, but he doesn't try to persuade himself this isn't different. It's different. Dick parts his thighs and shifts against the mattress and the way his cock starts to stiffen in response is entirely obvious. Perhaps there's more to the drug than Bruce expected because he hardens quickly. And as Bruce runs the gun's cold silencer down the length of him, from tip down to balls, he watches a bead of moisture gather in the slit. If this weren't absolutely necessary, he might hate himself for doing that. As it is, he can hate himself for the fact he considers leaning in to lick that moisture away. 

Dick's eyes drift open and Bruce seems him frown with recognition; he knows him, even through his drug-fuelled haze, and for a moment as Dick's mouth attempts to form his name, that turns Bruce's stomach. Bruce finds it easier to tip him over onto his front instead, tucking the gun into the back of his belt for a second just to keep it out of the way, like he's watched one too many movies. Like that, he doesn't have to think about the fact he knows it's him, though it also helps to know he can't give their connection away. 

Dick is pliant in every sense of the word, moving when and where he's urged to, his joints and muscles supple enough that when Bruce heaves him up onto his knees, he can spread them out wide enough that the tip of Dick's erection brushes against the sheet stretched over the plush mattress. Then Bruce pulls off his jacket and he takes the gun back in his hand and he runs it down the length of Dick's bare spine. He runs it down from the base of his neck to the indent there by the crack of his ass and Dick shifts, his erection leaving wet trails of his pre-come across the sheet. He'll need to take the sheet with him, Bruce thinks. He'll take everything, and leave no trace of this.

At the door, they gave him two things: lubricant and a silenced handgun. He sets one down and opens the other and for a moment he considers taking off the gloves, but he doesn't. He wonders how Dick would feel about that, were he even close to fully conscious; his crush on Bruce has been obvious for years, but he doubts this is the resolution Dick imagined. And he thinks he should use the gun for this, because at least that would feel a fraction more impersonal, but he knows he can't, not when it's loaded, not when he knows there's a round still chambered, because there's a slim chance that something he doesn't mean to happen will. He doesn't know if he could live with that.

He puts the gun down. He unbuckles his belt. His blood thumps loudly in his ears and in his veins, quickly, full up with adrenaline that does nothing to ease his own incipient erection. He pushes down his pants to mid-thigh and he pulls his shirt up underneath his arms and he squeezes out a line of lube all down the top edge of his cock. He strokes himself with one leather-gloved hand. Then he moves in closer. 

It doesn't take much to thumb Dick's cheeks apart and expose the hole between them. Bruce has had men before, but none of them have meant as much to him in as many ways as Dick does. None of them have known him the way that Dick does. Of course, none of them have been drugged for him the way that Dick is, either. As he rubs lubricant around the rim of Dick's hole, as he pushes one gloved finger past the tight muscle, he hopes he won't remember this. As he presses the tip of his slick cock to Dick's hole, as he rests it there, he thinks he'll take him back to the manor in case prying eyes are still watching them and he'll put him to bed and let him sleep it off. He'll arrange it so that in the morning, he won't be there, just in case he knows. 

He pushes in. The muscle at Dick's entrance gives just enough, almost not enough but just enough, and Bruce pushes in. Dick is not a virgin and Bruce knows that, though how he knows is not something they should ever discuss, but that doesn't make the fact of this any better. Bruce should be wearing protection but he's not - they didn't give him any and he has none in his wallet and the fact that he's bare inside of him, no barriers between him, makes his cock twitch a little harder. He grips Dick's hips with his gloved hands and the contrast of it makes his skin flush with arousal. Dick's crush has been obvious, but what Bruce has wanted has been quieter, and darker, and he hates knowing he wants this.

He fucks him, slowly. He pulls Dick up higher on his knees and brackets his waist with both his gloved hands as he moves in him, as Dick groans into the pillows. It's an expensive bed in an expensive house that belongs to some kind of shady shell corporation, and soon he'll have the time to look into that more closely. For now, all he can consider is the way Dick sounds now that he doesn't have the presence of mind to control himself, and the way Dick feels and the fact that they're both being watched. And he knows he shouldn't but he reaches forward, wraps one hand around Dick's cock and strokes. That's all it takes - Dick comes with a jerk of his hips and a moan into the pillows and a tight clench of his hole that makes Bruce stop still and squeeze his eyes shut with the feel of it. It doesn't work. His own orgasm sweeps in and though he had no intent to, though he meant to pull out and come on the sheets or the small of Dick's back, he doesn't make it out in time. He comes inside him, still pushed in deep. 

He pulls out. He pulls his shirt back down and he zips up. He doesn't look at Dick, sprawled face down on the bed, naked except for the mask that's still in place. Bruce doesn't look at the swatches of lube and threads of his own come on Dick's bare skin. He should know better, but he reaches out and runs his gloved fingertips between Dick's cheeks; the sound Dick makes at that is a cross between aroused and wounded, and Bruce wipes his fingers on the sheets.

"I trust you're pleased with your purchase, Mr. Wayne," says a voice over the intercom, and Bruce nods his head and says, "Extremely, yes." He wishes that weren't quite as close to true.

"We look forward to welcoming you back soon," says the voice. "We've asked your driver to pull around to the side exit. Do you require any assistance in loading the car?"

"No," Bruce says. Then he forces a smile. "Thank you. I look forward to my next visit." 

When he leaves, he's carrying Dick wrapped in a blanket and a pile of his suit wrapped in the come-strained sheet. Alfred doesn't ask what happened. Bruce doesn't know how he'd begin to explain. 

And then, as they drive away, Dick opens his eyes as Bruce takes off his mask. 

"I'm glad it was you," he says, before he passes out. So is Bruce; better him than someone else. Better him than anyone. 

It's possible he's saved Dick's life tonight. But he can't help but wonder if he let this happen because there really was no other way or if, perhaps, he was blinded by the fact he wanted it. 

For once, Bruce hopes he never knows the truth. But he wraps Dick in his arms and holds on tight. 

He'll take him back to the manor. And for once, Bruce thinks he'll follow Dick's lead on what comes next.


End file.
